Salvation
by Zorii
Summary: Lillian Covington is a wealthy citizen of the floating sky city of Columbia. The year is 1912. She is engaged, and well on her way to spending her life forever in the sky. But Lillian does not believe in God. She seeks a different form of salvation, to leave Columbia. Booker DeWitt, the False Shepherd, seems the only one with the ability to help her.
1. Chapter 1: The Black Sheep

**A/N: This is quite a slow chapter! It is mainly here to establish the main lady, Lillian Covington. Things are sure to pick up in the next chapter. Enjoy!**

* * *

It was just another day. Another day in the seamless routine that was life in Columbia. Everybody did what they were supposed to. And why shouldn't they? For the upperclass, life in Columbia was perfection. But there was one young lady who was fit to burst with frustration and anger.

"I'm hoping they will expand the borders slightly so that we might requisition a house built for us in Downtown Emporia, so that we might remain close to your family's home and also near to my work. Wouldn't that be lovely, darling?"

"That sounds wonderful, James. Perhaps Mr. Fink will expand soon so that the house will be done in time for the wedding." Lillian Covington gave her fiancé a pretty smile as she placed her hand on his. The Fair was a buzz around them, with children laughing as they chased each other about, waving their cotton candy. The young couple sat on a bench in the Fairgrounds, surrounded by carnival goers. The sun glistened through the clouds and sparkled off the city. Bright light reflected through the many facets on the diamond that rested on Lillian's engagement ring, the sunlight warming everything it touched, and making the twenty year old appear to the happiest woman alive. The sun made everything seem better than it was.

"I should hope so," said James, her smile bringing a radiant grin to his own face. "Otherwise we might have to buy a house in the Welcome Center District. And I want only the best for my Lillian." He leaned forward to place a chaste kiss on her cheek, giving a light squeeze to her hand. His words brought another small smile to her face, her blue eyes shining adoringly up at him. But Lillian was a good actress.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to burst into tears and tell him how much she _hated _Columbia, and how she wanted to be rid of the city. How she was only marrying him because he was the kindest of her suitors, the most gentle, but that she hated the way he worshipped the Prophet and bought all of the lies he spooned to the public about _God _and _Angels _and all of his nonsense. But then she may as well shout that she was the False Shepherd and be done with it, murdered on the spot.

"It's nearly six o'clock, my dear. Your parents will be expecting you home for supper, and I would hate for them to be upset with either of us." He stood from the bench and took her hand to help her us as well. Lillian smiled again as she looped her arm through his, following his lead as he took them to the gondola.

* * *

"I'll leave you here for the evening," James told her, standing at the front door of her parents' house.

"Nonsense. You'll be joining us for supper, of course," she said as she turned the handle, the door sliding silently open on oiled hinges.

"Your parents won't mind?" he asked politely. Always the gentleman, James was. So afraid of stepping on toes. So like most of the citizens of Columbia.

"Of course not. They love you." The young woman stepped through the entrance hall to their magnificent home. Elegant rugs were spread on top of the wooden floor, the walls were paneled in rich mahogany and decorated with mirrors and beautiful paintings. Not a single expense had been spared.

"Miss Covington. Mister Hartley. The misters and missus are in the dining hall, awaiting your arrival." One of their servants, Ray, greeted them. He was, of course, black. All of the servants and slaves of Columbia were colored. Upon hearing this, James turned to Lillian with a warm smile.

"Let's not tarry then." He spared no glance for Ray. Why should he? The Prophet told Columbia that other races were beneath the white man. They were God's Chosens. But Lillian did not buy into that. Her smile was reserved for Ray, kindness in each word she spared for him.

"Thank you, Ray. We appreciate it." Ray dropped his gaze, and even James looked uncomfortable. They all did, whenever she acknowledged the servants. Her parents would scold her, as would her elder brother. James was too smitten with her to really press the issue with her. He'd brought it up, once.

_"Erm, Lillian, dear? Why do you speak to the servants with such…familiarity?"_

She'd looked at him with a hardness she had rarely displayed to anyone. The coldness that was hidden inside had slipped through her façade in that moment.

_"Because they are people too."_

It had never been brought up since.

The couple stepped into the dining room, where her parents and elder brother William were already seated. All three rose at their appearance, beaming.

"Welcome home, dear!" her mother exclaimed, affectionate as ever. "_James_, how lovely to see you. I do hope you're staying for dinner. Freda, set out another place for Mr. Hartley." Freda, another servant, dipped her head and began to do as told, quiet as a mouse.

"Thank you, Mrs. Covington. You're most kind."

"Martha, dear. You don't have to go on calling me Mrs. Covington. Sit, sit," Mrs. Covington urged. Lillian and James took their respective places opposite William, who winked and smiled at them.

"James, as our guest, would you care to say grace this evening?" her father questioned. Lillian's fiancé smiled warmly as they all took hands, Lillian linked to James and her father.

"It would be my pleasure." As one, they bowed their heads and closed their eyes. Lillian gritted her teeth. Every damned meal. Every damned day. They had to offer their appreciation up to a God which, in her eyes, didn't exist. And she had to pretend to buy into it. Life was more stale to her than the bread that workers in Shantytown ate, if they got any at all. Day in and day out, she was a trained bird who sang their songs to make them happy.

"Bless, O Lord, this food for thy use, and make us ever mindful of the wants and needs of others. I thank you, O Lord, for allowing me to share in this meal with the wonderful family of my beloved fiancée. I am forever grateful for them, and for the opportunity to be a part of such a splendid union. In Christ's name we pray, Amen."

"Amen," they echoed, looking up and releasing their hold on each other. Lillian kept her hand on James' for a moment longer, giving it an affectionate squeeze. She knew he would like that. His warm chocolate brown eyes met her blue ones, a smile dancing in his gaze. She knew that she didn't deserve him, in a way. He mindlessly followed what all Columbians followed, yes. But he was gentle and kind, and gave her all of his love. He would support her and cherish her. And though she couldn't feel the deep love that he apparently felt for her, she could at least pretend to. Lillian would never find that deep love. She could never be in love with a sheep.

Dishes were passed around the table as the family served themselves, chattering about the annual fair. Lillian was grateful for that. At least the servants didn't dish them their food, though Freda did stay in the room to refill beverages as need be. Each 'thank you' she received from Lillian was met with stern looks from her family, but the young woman paid no heed. Conversation moved about the table, flowing seamlessly from topic to topic with ease. Soon the meal was done, the dishes were cleared, and each person swept away to partake in their separate activities. Lillian's was to walk James to the door.

"You will be attending the raffle tomorrow with your family, will you not?" James asked as they closed the front door, standing on the privacy of their stoop. "Will they be accompanying you?"

Yes, the raffle. Her whole family would certainly be going. Her parents had heard a rumor that a slave would be raffled away, and were hoping to be the winners. It filled Lillian with an icy irritation, which bordered on rage that she bottled up inside her. She wanted to rant and rave about the indecency of it all and about the continued enslavement of blacks when America had abolished it already. But nobody could know her true thoughts. Nobody could know her blasphemy.

"They will be. I will meet you there in the morning."

"Until then, my Lillian." James reached down to cup her face in his hands. In the books she'd read, the girl's that experienced the touch of their lover always felt what they described as a thrill, an electric current of excitement. Lillian felt nothing but the warmth of his hands. Even so, she smiled and closed her eyes as he leaned in to kiss her. His kisses were pleasant, yes. But that was all. Was she inhuman, to feel that way? Unnatural?

"I love you," he said quietly as he pulled back to gaze into her eyes. She smiled, placing one hand against his cheek. He was a sweet man. His brown hair was always perfectly styled, his teeth perfectly aligned, flashing white with every boyish smile he gave her. His suit, always pristine for his work at the Bank of the Prophet. His love, reserved only for her. No, she did not deserve him.

"I love you too." Lillian didn't believe she lied with her words. She did love James, in a way, even though she wasn't necessarily _in _love with him. It might not be in the heart-pounding, earth-shattering way that the novels described. But he would protect her, and care for her. He was a God worshipping follower of the Prophet, yes. But he didn't speak of it as often as the rest. With him, he believed it didn't need to be spoken of, because everyone should feel it in their hearts without having to speak it aloud. Lillian didn't know if that made it better or worse. But at least her fake smiles did not have to be for the word of God. Perhaps that was why he had been her favorite suitor. Because it was one less thing about which she had to pretend.

When James took his leave, the smile slipped off his face as she watched him leave. The coldness, and also the sadness, crawled back into her face. This would be her life. After twenty years, one would think she would have accepted it by now. But Lillian could never accept the chains that bound her. This was a life hardly worth living. Sighing, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, she stepped back into the entrance hall, only to find William standing there. He leaned against the railing of the stair, waiting for her. "What's wrong, Lilli?" It could hardly be called a question, with the tone he was using. His near black eyes, usually so carefree and joyful, bored into her. She folded her hands in front of her, adopting a look with the proper amount of confusion and innocence.

"What do you mean, Will? There's nothing wrong." Will. His dark curly hair drove the girls wild. Nobody knew why, but Lillian did. It made him stand apart from the men of Columbia, made him look like some sort of rogue that could do some sort of mischief at any moment. Not that he ever did. But it drove the girls wild either way. Her older brother pushed himself off the railing and came to stand in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders and staring down at her. Under his gaze, Lillian felt like there was no escape. It was the only thing in the world that had the power to make her squirm.

"Lil, I've known you your whole life. I can tell when you're bothered, and when you're acting, even when nobody else can," he stated confidently. "So what's wrong?" His confidence almost wanted to make her smile. He couldn't tell half as well as he thought. Lillian was _always_ bothered, and always acting. She wanted to look away from his gaze, which felt like it was burning a hole through her. Even after all this years, lying to him made her feel guilty beyond reason. She let her eyes to the floor. In this case, it would help with the act of being abashed.

"I'm nervous for the wedding is all. It all seems to be happening so fast. What if I don't make a good wife?"

He stared at her for a few moments longer before accepting her excuse. And why shouldn't he? It was a perfectly logical fear for any normal girl to have. An understanding and sympathetic smile broke out across his face. "The wedding isn't for a few more months. We have plenty of time left to plan, and it will be plenty of time for you to get used to the idea. God will bless your marriage, and watch over you. He won't let you fail as a wife. And James will love you, no matter what."

Would he still love her, if he knew her deepest thoughts? Would any of them love her, or would they cast her away as the black sheep of the family? If it meant she could leave Columbia, maybe she would even accept their hate if it meant no longer hating herself. She stared at the ground to hide the irritation in her eyes. God this, God that. Screw the blessing of God. Lillian didn't want it. She only wanted to escape it.

* * *

That night, she sat in front of her vanity, dressed in her nightgown, as Addie brushed her long black hair. It flowed down to the small of her back in soft waves. It was perhaps the only truly beautiful thing about Lillian. She, like all girls, didn't see herself as some fair beauty from the stories, though she didn't think herself plain either. She did as most young women did when they stared in the mirrors, which was to pluck apart everything about themselves. Her nose, weak and undefined. Her lips, not shapely enough for her liking. Her eyes, not big enough. Her breasts, certainly too small for any man to admire. And yet James adored her. Every bit of her. Or at least, every bit of what he thought she was.

As she stared into the mirror, her nightly thoughts consumed her. Columbia. Her own personal Hell. She was an eagle among sheep, her wings chained so that she could not soar above them as she knew she could. The Lord's flock indeed. Not an original thought in any of their minds as they blindly followed the word of Comstock, all bleating the same words day in and day out, repeating the phrases shoved down their throats since birth. She'd purged herself of that stupidity by reading books of science. There was no God. And yet who would believe her? She had been raised in Columbia, and nobody left the floating city. Nobody here _didn't_ believe in God. Would it be worth it, to admit to her nonbelieving? Would it be worth it, to be proclaimed the False Shepherd and slain on the spot? Perhaps she was just a black sheep, not an eagle. Still as dumb, still as willing to go with the crowd. It was merely the color of her mind that was different. She still feared death. Death was so final. Life was full of possibilities.

She didn't want to marry. But soon she would be considered an old maid, unfit for marriage, even though she was barely twenty. Lillian would be living her hell alone, with no children to raise, with no children to teach how to think for themselves. If she couldn't leave Columbia, would it not be better to at least help the next generation broaden their minds? Or would it be cruel, to breed more eagles with chained wings? What was the greater evil for her?

"I've turned your sheets for you, Miss Covington," said the soft voice of Addie. Lillian rose from her seat and turned to face the young black woman, not much older than herself. A small smile appeared on her face and she reached a hand out to place on the other woman's shoulder.

"You are too good to me, Addie. I found something at the Fairgrounds I think you'd like. Perhaps I'll buy it for you. As a thank you for all that you do."

Addie flushed a deep color as she looked down, clearly embarrassed. "Miss Covington, you're too kind. I don't think it would be proper for no servant woman to be getting a gift from her mistress. I'm only doing my job, miss, nothing more."

Lillian sighed. She forgot that Addie was relatively new. Her parents had wanted a slave that was closer to Lillian's age, which Addie exceeded only by a few years. So they'd gotten rid of Harriet, who had loved Lillian and treated her like a silly child. No other servant would have the guts to talk to Lillian that way, except for Harriet. And Lillie had loved her for it. "Nonsense. You're a human being, not a "servant woman." And you're my friend. You're supposed to call me _Lillian_, remember?" Addie looked up sheepishly and gave her a fleeting smile.

"Yes, Miss Lillian." It was close enough.

Once she was tucked into her warm bed and left alone, staring into the darkness, Lillian didn't have to worry about anybody seeing her emotions, written clearly across her face now in the cover of darkness. A bitter resentment, an apprehension, a hatefulness for her life. The raffle would be tomorrow. Who knew what kind of prejudiced horrors would happen at the Fair.

All of these Columbians, seeking their salvation from God. What about Lillian? Who would be _her_ salvation from the hell of Columbia? She would be a chained eagle all of her life. All she wanted was somebody to help her to fly.


	2. Chapter 2: Vigors, Vox, and Violence

**A/N: A bit of Fair fluff. :) But all with establishing relationships and at least some having significance and purpose. Especially the last bit. Things are getting more exciting. Enjoy!**

* * *

Lillian braced herself against the wall as Addie laced her corset, tightly pulling everything into place. It was the day of the raffle, and she knew she would be expected to look as pretty as she could, just in case her family won. If there _was_ a slave raffled off, the winner would be the talk of the town, the family name mixed in with mentions of the Lamb. For at least a few days at least, until something else caught their attention. And she knew her mother and father would be incredibly disappointed if the talk was of how uncomely the family's daughter was.

So the corset was laced up tightly, covered by a pristine white blouse. Her skirt was a fine red to match her lipstick with intricate black designs along the bottom. A black ribbon around her middle finished it all up. But the fine point of it all was the smile on Addie's face when Lillian gave her a warm hug afterwards.

"One more thing, Miss Lillian. Your hair." The dark girl sat her mistress down to pull back part of her long black hair, tying it up with a large red ribbon, leaving the rest down. It made Lillian feel more childlike, in a way. But it was nice to have her hair free of constricting pins for once, and for that, she was grateful.

"Thank you, Addie. I'll see you after the raffle, with that gift I promised you," she told her, giving the slightly older girl another smile before opening the door.

"Miss Lillian?" Addie called out, timid and hesitant. Hand on the door, Lillian turned back curiously. "I just wanted to say that…I like it here. You make me feel like family, almost. And I wanted to say thank you for that." With that, the servant girl dipped her head in silence, afraid she'd gone too far.

Lillian only gave a very sad smile. How horrible was that girl's past life, that she could ever enjoy life as a slave. And how admirable, that she could find happiness in it. "Thank you, Addie. I can't give you your freedom, and I'm sorry for that. But I can do my best to hopefully make life a little better. I'll see you in a few hours."

As Lillian stepped down the carpeted stairs, one hand on the railing, her ears were sabotaged with the happy exclamations of her mother.

"Oh, _darling_, you look beautiful. James will want to marry you on the spot when he sees you. Doesn't she look wonderful, Walter?" Mrs. Covington gushed, her hand looped through her husband's arm. Lillian looked towards her father, whose perfectly trimmed mustache twitched as his lips quirked into a smile.

"Ravishing. Shall we be off?" Mr. Covington asked, nodding towards William, who held out his own arm for Lillian to take. She gave her older brother a pretty smile, just as she would be expected. What a wonderfully trained little bird she was, and what a perfect family they would appear as they traveled towards the Fair. Nobody would ever suspect her blasphemous mind. Nobody ever would. It was just another day in hell.

* * *

"_Lillian, _my darling, you look stunning," James complimented, meaning it wholeheartedly as he kissed her in front of her family. The blush that she gave wasn't feigned at all and she pulled away, covering her mouth with a gloved hand, wide eyes turning to look at her family.

"James, dear!" she exclaimed, aghast. James at least had the decency to look embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck as he opened his mouth to apologize. Lillian's mother surprised her by laughing, and even her father was grinning. William, hovering beside Mr. Covington, merely winked. A few girls tittered from paces away as they watched her older brother. Lillian had to resist the urge to make a face at their giggling. In a way, she envied their carefree nature and their ignorance. They were happy living in Columbia. It was bliss for them.

"See, I told you he would be stunned! You two go have fun. I expect you in Raffle Square in time for the event, so don't be late," her mother warned.

"I'll take good care of her, Mrs. Covington," James vowed.

"_Martha,_" Mrs. Covington corrected, tsking even as she smiled. "And we know you will. You always do. Walter, have you seen those sky-hooks? It seems a crude way to travel, doesn't it. I imagine only no good layabouts would use that sort of thing. Why not wait for a gondola to travel like _proper_ folk?" Lillian watched as her mother and father walked away towards the sky-hook display, and watched with amusement as William went to flirt shamelessly with the young girls. He might be a good religious Columbian man, but even he couldn't deny a couple of doe eyes.

Lillian turned to see what display they should visit, gazing about critically. A grin lit up her face at the one behind them, and she pulled lightly on James' arm.

"Oh, James! You should try this. I've never seen you _use_ your vigor. It would be exciting!"

"Yeeees, it would, good sir, young lady! Step right up, test the power of the bucking bronco!" The man running the stand seemed more than willing to have them try out the vigor, though that was probably due to the price of a ticket to play. James looked both abashed and slightly proud at the same time, which was a rather rare expression for him to be wearing.

"You wouldn't want to see that, Lillian dear. It's only for emergencies at the bank, really. To hold thieves, in case of robbery, so that the authorities might deal with them. Why don't we go see the Equis Mechanical instead?" he asked politely, already moving to maneuver her there. Lillian frowned, placing her other hand on his arm and putting on the most pitiful expression she could muster. She didn't want to be maneuvered away. The Fair happened each year, but some of the exhibits were the only exciting thing that happened. It was the one change, the one week where things were different. Each of the other 358 days were dull by comparison.

"Please, James? Just this once." That was what did it. She saw his mind changed as he looked down in her eyes, his hesitant look softening as he smiled, leaning to kiss her forehead.

"As my lady commands," he said, adopting a horrible British accent. Lillian gave him a genuine grin as they approached the booth, the barker wearing a smile bigger than her own.

"Thaaaat's right, step right up! Will it be the gentleman, trying to cast out the devil today? Save the young woman and her babe from being tempted by his evil ways!"

James handed over the proper amount of silver eagles and was handed a bottle of salts in return. Lillian watched in fascination as her fiancé unscrewed the top and took a swig of the oddly bronze liquid. She stood near to him so as to have a better view. The sign said he had to 'cast out the devil' three times to win. Of course, everything at the fair would be related to religion. It _was_ Columbia still, after all. But it all would be worth stomaching, if it meant she got to see James use his vigor.

The painted flames dropped, revealing the scene. A cutout of a woman holding a child, sliding back and forth along a track, and a citizen dressed as the devil, hiding behind a couch. James spotted him as well. As the cutout slid by, she stared at her fiancé as his hand lifted. His fingers, which had been curled into a claw, splayed out suddenly and released a wave of power. The devil was lifted into the air, flailing, defying gravity even while struggling to be back on the ground once more.

"There's one devil!" the barker shouted. Lillian watched with fascination, but soon the flames rose up to cover the scene, and when they lowered, the devil was in a different place. James repeated the action. He missed. For the third attempt, Lillian watched his face. Usually so gentlemanly and boyish, his brow was now furrowed in concentration. It was a look she rarely saw on him, one that she only saw if she visited him at work and he was counting out silver eagles. It brought a small smile to her face as he used his vigor again. Yes, there was a charm about James. Perhaps, if she could somehow ignore his obsession with the Prophet, she could come to truly love him. But she could never love this life, even if she learned to love her future husband.

"Aaaand there's two!"

James wound up winning a small handful of coins, enough to cover his ticket and a little extra. Scooping up the change, he turned back to Lillian with a sheepish smile.

"It looks like I'm a bit out of practice. Under orders of the Prophet, all bank employees have been trained with this vigor. I haven't had to use it since I took the job, however."

Lillian smiled and stood on the tips of her toes to give him a light kiss on the cheek. He looked as pleased at that as a young schoolboy. "I think it was wonderful. Thank you for that."

They took their time wandering through the fair. James tried his hand at the High Striker. He bought them each some ice cream, of which they had _four_ flavors to offer now, and they sat on a bench to enjoy them. The couple wound up seeing the Equis Mechanicals, tested the voxophones, danced to a song by a small band, visited a demonstration of many kinds of vigors, and even saw a handyman. Lillian didn't like that bit. He looked so sad, like he was in pain, and he looked terrified whenever a photograph was taken. She'd clung to James' arm as the folks around them marveled, and found herself resisting the urge to cry, even as James himself exclaimed about the metal man. Lillian resented her own life. But she knew what she was. But to be a handyman, half man and half machine, stuck in between and not knowing which he truly was. What sort of existence was that, she wondered.

Eventually, the two came across a shooting game that involved hunting down the Vox Populi with an airgun. Lillian meant to cruise by that display without a second glance. Surprisingly, James stopped her, and she didn't at all like the silly smile on his face.

"What's that look for?" she asked him warily.

"I tried out my vigor for you. You should try the shooting game," he urged, all smiles and fun. "It's a perfectly reasonable target, too. That wretched and blasphemous Vox Populi, causing disorder and doubting the Prophet. I wouldn't be surprised if Daisy Fitzroy was the False Shepherd herself, hiding the marking under a glove or bandana. Plotting to murder the Lamb next, since she already got Lady Comstock. Give it a go, Lil! It will be fun!" Lillian shook her head vigorously with a nervous laugh, clasping her hands in front of her. She didn't want to shoot at anyone, especially not the Vox. Secretly, Lillian thought they had the right idea. Columbia was far from perfect, and they would bring around change. She couldn't help but wonder; if James knew her thoughts, would he hesitate to aim a gun at her head? Or blast _her_ with a vigor?

"Oh, no, James, I could never. It wouldn't be decent."

"Nonsense! I saw a woman testing out the bucking bronco when we went by the second time. There's no difference in this. Humor me?" Now she was on the receiving end of the puppy eyes, which James probably did ten times better than herself. With a look like that, how could she do anything but relent?

The price of the ticket was soon paid, and the air rifle was in her hands. It wasn't too heavy, but the machinery felt strange. It was the first gun she'd ever held, even if it wasn't real. The timer was about to start.

"What do I do?" she asked in a panic, inexplicably nervous. James stood behind her, and helped position her hands properly, raising the gun to the right height.

"Just have fun, darling. Look down the sights, there you are. All you have to do is pull the trigger." He beamed down at her, and released his hold on her hands, so it was only her holding the weapon. "Good luck!"

The timer started, and cutouts popped up from behind bushes and trees alike. Lillian almost flinched, like they were real people. The gun was already aimed at the one that appeared in the middle. She pulled the trigger, and the cutout fell.

"And the first of the Vox is down! The little lady is a natural! Let's see if she can keep it up!"

Lillian wasn't the fastest with her aiming, but when she got sorted, she didn't miss a shot. Not one bullet went wasted: except for one.

"And there's that traitor, Daisy Fitzroy!"

There she was. Automatically, Lillian pulled the gun to aim at her. The cutout was moving, and fast. Lillian was lined up just right. But suddenly, it all seemed too real. If that was the real Daisy, would Lillie be able to shoot her? To _kill_ the leader of the revolution? To kill all the hopes of the common folk and leave them with nothing to root for? Blue eyes widened, and Lillian pulled the trigger. She missed by a mile. The cutout had already passed.

"The traitor escapes! And tiiiimes up! Second prize! Fine shooting for a little lady like yourself!"

Lillian quickly set the gun down and found that she was shaking as she accepted the small amount of silver eagles that she'd won. She turned to James to hand them off to him for safe keeping. But as soon as he pocketed the change, he held her hands in his, looking down at her with concern. No doubt he could feel the tremors.

"Hey, hey," he said soothingly, releasing one hand to touch her face. She smiled nervously up at him. "Why the shaking? It was just a game, sweetheart. You didn't really kill anyone. It was meant to be fun. And you won something out of it, that's fantastic!" Lillian leaned into him, letting him wrap his arms around her in a hug. So she was a natural with a gun. Was that a good thing? Or bad?

"I'm alright, dear, I promise. It was…fun. I just get nervous, that's all. It's a bit frightening, isn't it? All of those cutouts popping up at you." She pulled back from his hug to smile up at him, and he responded in kind.

"Just a bit jumpy, then? I understand. Well then, at least I'm glad you had fun." He checked his fancy watch before holding his arm out to her. "Time for the raffle, darling. It would be impolite to keep your parents waiting."

It didn't take long to pass through the ticket automation, the machine greeting them by name. It took even less time to find her family, already gathered.

"Oh, good, we were wondering when you would show! We already have our numbers. Odd form of tickets, aren't they?" Mrs. Covington asked, turning her labeled baseball over in her hands. Her father and brother already held baseballs of their own.

The family of five stood in front of the raffle stage, waiting for the festivities to begin. Many other folks were gathered as well, all chattering animatedly about what the prize this year would be. James led Lillian over to a woman holding a basket of baseballs, and they each collected one for themselves. Lillie didn't _want_ a ticket. What if she were to win, and had to go and claim the slave, if that truly _was_ the prize? How could she bear having to look happy about something like that, in front of all these Columbians, and Mr. Fink himself? It would be too much. But she wouldn't be able to explain herself is she didn't take a baseball. So there she stood, gripping her number 92 tightly, as Jeremiah Fink stepped onto the stage to a chorus of cheers from the gathered crowd.

He instantly began to lead them in a song of Goodnight Irene, to which the crowd joined in, swaying back and forth and singing happily. James took her hand as he sang along, beaming down at her. She smiled back, even as her stomach clenched tightly with nerves. The moment was approaching. Lillian would give anything to be anywhere but the raffle in this moment. She didn't want to see. Ignorance was bliss. She knew that better than anyone, as she had to see each Columbians ignorance every day. And they always looked blissful.

A few stragglers were moving into the Raffle Square as the song ended and Jeremiah Fink laughed in his usual charismatic way. It was infectious, and the crowd cheered for it.

"And now, the 1912 Raffle has officially begun!" he called out, arms spread wide, mustache perfectly groomed. Mr. Fink was the perfect businessman. But Lillian had heard rumors of what his factories were like. His charisma sickened her. What if those rumors were all true? "Bring me the bowl!"

One of the young ladies assisting in the raffle walked out on stage with the bowl of numbers amidst the cheers, swaying with a sassy confidence that was typical of the kind of girls Will hung about with. So it only made sense that he cheered along with the others when Mr. Fink exclaimed, "Is that not the prettiest young white girl in all of Columbia?" Lillie was grateful that James did not cheer. He only turned to look down at her, smiled, winked, and mouthed, "He hasn't seen you."

"All right then. The winner! Is number seventy-seven!"

Lillian had to try not to sigh in relief as her number was not called. Looking quickly around at her family's faces, it was clear that neither of them had been called either. Her father had tucked his baseball in his pocket to free his hands as he clapped, nodding down at Lillian's mother. "Next year, next year."

It was only a moment before one of the assistants was pointing out the winner excitedly. It was a man, apparently. Lillian couldn't see him in the crowd, though she peered like all the rest.

"Number seventy-seven, come and claim your prize! First throw!" Mr. Fink shouted.

His words didn't make sense to Lillian, not at first. But as the curtains rose, and the interracial couple was brought forward, it all became clear. The baseballs, first throw…they were all to stone the couple. Just for being in love. But instead of stones, it would be in the good ole American fashion: with baseballs. The raffle winner's prize was having the first go at them.

People were taking up the chant of 'first throw,' egging the winner on. No doubt he was enjoying his moment, wondering if he should throw the ball at the man or the woman on stage. Lillian felt sick. She was going to vomit, she was sure of it. She was going to watch this couple die, she was expected to _participate_ in it. And there was nothing she could do to stop it. Where was Daisy Fitzroy now? Where was the voice of the people?

She stared over at where the winner was located, trying to catch a glimpse of him, to see what kind of man he was. Lillian could only see the space that had formed in front of him, so he would have a clear shot at the couple. She still couldn't see his face. She saw his arm draw back, ready to throw. Was it just the angle at which she was standing? Or did it look like he was about to throw…at Fink?

Lillian would never know. Before he could loose the baseball, an officer grabbed the man's wrist firmly, calling out, "Wait!"

Another citizen said, in a horrified voice, "It's him!" Him? Of course it was _him_, he was the winner, that had been made clear. Only….they weren't talking about the raffle.

Fink crouched on the stage, leaning close. His words were softer than they had been, but they escalated in volume as he continued. Without realizing it, Lillian found herself weaving through the crowd, trying to get closer, trying to get a peek. Could it be…?

"Now, where'd you get that brand, boy? Don't you know that makes you the back-stabbin', snake-in-the-grass False Shepherd?" Fink demanded. No…it wasn't possible. Could the alleged False Shepherd possibly have come? Lillian was getting nearer, hearing James call her name from behind her. He wasn't as small as her, couldn't slip through the crowd as easily. She paid him no mind. Only one thing was on her mind, and that was getting near to the winner of the 1912 raffle.

People were now taking up a different call: "The False Shepherd!" Lillian focused on Fink's voice.

"And we ain't lettin' no False Shepherd into our flock! Show him what we got planned, boys!"

There was only one row of people between her and the officer that had grabbed the False Shepherd's wrist. Why were these men so _tall_? She could see the officers clearly, but didn't have a view of the shepherd. But she saw when the other officer pulled out his sky-hook, powering it up to spin at a rapid rate. He moved it towards the winner's face. No…he couldn't. Not the False Shepherd-!

Everything happened too fast. She saw the baseball with the red 77 fly into the air. She saw a pair of strong hands grasp the officers. And she saw the sky-hook spinning as it tore into the nearest officer's face, somehow maneuvered there instead of the False Shepherd's brain.

Lillian didn't know that blood would be so hot. It splattered across her face, warm and wet and unexpected. People were screaming around her. A scream of her own ripped out of her throat. The crowd scattered, and she could see the False Shepherd's back as he turned to the other officer and took off his face with the sky-hook as well.

A sob tore from her as James grabbed her arm and pulled, hand slipping down to grab hers as he ran, dragging her in the opposite direction, away from the False Shepherd. Lillian ran after her fiancé, cursing the heels that hindered her. The blood felt like lava as it slid down her face in macabre tears.

And yet she couldn't resist the glance back, seeing the Shepherd run up the stairs on the opposite side, sky-hook in hand. He had finally come. And he had already killed two, their blood spattered across her face as a memento. Lillian should be terrified. She _was_ terrified, and wanted to vomit. She wanted to claw at her face and wipe off the blood that would forever make her feel unclean.

And yet there was still that peculiar sense of hope deep down. It was a sort of unfamiliar warmth, blossoming in the pit of her stomach and brightening her gaze like nothing ever had.

The False Shepherd. Could it really be true? He had finally arrived. Maybe this was it.

Maybe this was her salvation.


End file.
